


Hot and Cold

by Louffox



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Jon is kind of thick but we love him anyways, Lashing Out, Martin has had Enough, Martin is actually amazing, no beta we die like men, post MAG92
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: Jon sees Martin is still doing statements, and decides to give the poor frail boy a break. Pity that there aren't actually any poor frail boys around. He's not going to make that mistake again.





	Hot and Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a half a dozen other things partially written and yet somehow I get smacked with this idea and manage to keyboard smash the whole thing out in an hour. These things just happen sometimes. This is an oddly short fic for little ol windbag me, but it got my point across.

Jon ground his knuckles into his eyes tiredly.

 

No, actually, he didn’t do that, because that would shred his contacts and leave him all bloodshot and awful looking, so instead he picked unsatisfyingly at the corner of one eye and glanced at his mug. Empty again. He wished it would stop doing that, going empty.

 

He bet Mary Keay had some blood-sacrifice-powered mug that never went empty, or maybe the power came from a half finished modified Leitner abomination. Elias probably had one too, if he wasn't so far separated from humanity to still require sleep. Jon wasn't quite to the point of harnessing malicious entities and powers for endless hot caffeine beverages. Not yet, anyways.

 

As he snatched up his empty mug and headed for the kitchenette, he debated doing another statement. In the past month, his tolerance to them had started to sharply increase. Or perhaps it was doing ones that had already been done by Gertrude. Either way, he had been able to do a statement every four days, rather than one a week. He was tired, but it was a healthy tired- he could easily tell the difference between a tired from staying up too late doing research and chasing wiki links and getting distracted because he was an undeniable nerd who tended to get sucked into rabbit holes of research, and a tired from doing too many statements, using up that mental fortitude and wearing down not his body but something deeper, stronger yet somehow also fragile, a strange soreness that weighed on him in an ineffably non-physical manner.

 

He was tired in a normal, human way. So maybe he'd take on another statement before the end of the day.

 

As if answering his thoughts, his eyes fell on a folder. A statement folder. They weren't all identical- some were just stapled papers, some were lined with three holes for binders, some were faded and water damaged, some were in neat folders, some still with three creases from being mailed in. But Jon knew which were statements just by sight now. A gut feeling, knowing what it was without being able to describe it. It was familiar and disturbing, like deja vu of something from childhood. That was a statement.

 

On Martin’s desk.

 

He couldn't help but stop and look at it. It looked to be fairly modern, in english. The handwriting was neat and feminine.

 

Martin was still doing statements.

 

Jon picked it up. Of course he heard steps coming immediately- Martin’s desk was closest to the kitchenette, and that was his merry and unsurprisingly harmonious humming coming this way. Jon hurriedly put the statement down.

 

“Oh! Hi, Jon, what can I do for you?” Martin asked kindly, holding a cup of tea.

 

“I… I was just on my way to make a cup of tea,” he said, straining to be casual.

 

Martin’s eyes went from him to the statement and back, and Jon couldn't help himself.

 

“I actually- well, I was really craving a chai latte,actually. Er… Basira had one yesterday and- and it smelled fantastic, I've been craving one ever since. Tell you what, if you go get me one, I'll do the statement for you. I know they're exhausting, and this one is probably another horrible one, and I, er, I was actually going to start one myself after I got my tea,” he said in a rush.

 

Martin's chin lifted slightly, and though his face still was smiling, something changed slightly about his eyes.

 

“Are you trying to protect me from the statements?” he asked quietly.

 

“I- er, no, I just… well, yes, sort of, because- because we're friends and I want to look out for you, and I truly was going to do one this afternoon, I'm being honest,” Jon stammered, caught off guard by the blunt question. He tried again. “I just worry about how they can affect you, that's all.”

 

“Okay. So you'll take on the statement, and I'll just run out and grab you a chai?”

 

“... Yes,” Jon said firmly, nodding, glad Martin was agreeing to it. Of course he'd agree, he didn't handle the statements well and bringing people tea or other small favors seemed to be what he did best.

 

“Alright then, one chai coming right up,” Martin said merrily, his smile growing wide again. Jon nodded again, once, and turned to collect the statement, already scanning the first few lines for the subject manner.

 

“Oh, and… Jon?” Martin said, and Jon turned back, wondering if the poor guy had forgotten his wallet yet again-

 

He staggered back, catching himself on the desk, ears ringing, blinking furiously against the pain. His mouth dropped open, and the hurt was like a trumpet in his face. His hand went up, immediately covering his cheek where Martin had punched him.

 

Martin had punched him.

 

Martin had punched him?

 

“ _ I am not a child!” _ Martin bellowed, jabbing a finger at Jon, who flinched, reeling, barely comprehending what had just happened, let alone the immediate tense. Martin had punched him, and now was scolding him. The pain now blooming over his cheek like slowly pouring hot water wasn’t nearly as loud as Martin’s voice.

 

But he wasn't done. “I'm fully competent to do my job, I don't need to be coddled! In fact, I've been here longer than even you have! I worked with Gertrude, I was here when the old statements were fresh and being given! I can take care of myself! I am  _ sick _ of you tiptoeing around, keeping secrets, keeping me in the dark, keeping  _ poor little Martin boy _ safe. I can take care of myself!” Here he made an angry sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, and shook his head. He turned and went into the kitchenette, still scolding.

 

“Did you forget that I survived a blasted  _ worm siege _ for days and days on my own? That I went through Prentiss attacking my apartment alone, when all of you barely survived Prentiss attacking the archives all together? That I spent ages down in the tunnels with a corpse and god knows what else, and oh yeah, that corpse was of my old boss?” There was the sound of opening and closing, and then he was coming back around the corner, still talking, holding a frozen bag of peas. He squinted at Jon's cheek, taking his chin to tilt his head slightly, then wrapped the peas in a dish cloth and gently pressed it to Jon’s cheekbone. Jon stayed stock still, feeling a bit like a tiger trainer who’s charge had just reminded him claws sat under that soft downy fur, afraid to move.

 

“Tim and I spent ages in those doors, being played with by the Spiral, and we came out sane and relatively okay. Hell, I think I even did  _ better _ than Tim did, because I didn’t get all crazy angry after. And then, when you disappeared, and everyone thought you pipe-murdered that guy, I was  _ loyal _ to you, I argued and argued that you hadn’t done it. I put my own job on the line, unlike some of the other cowards who work here. I didn’t sneak around and pretend like it was all fine. I  _ kept fighting for you. _

 

“I'm not a kid who needs to be coddled. I work here too, I survive just as well as everyone else, and it's no thanks to your babying. In fact, it's your protectiveness that left us all in the dark about Not Sasha and everything else. And you have too much to carry yourself, without trying to carry me and the others as well.” Jon's tried to look down, unable to bear meeting his eyes. Because he was right. About everything. His eye on his punched side watered and leaked down his face. The other eye did as well, unexpectedly.

 

“Hey. Hey, Jon. I'm sorry I hit you. I just… I don't know else to get through to you. Stop trying to protect everyone. We're all mature, independent, self-sustaining adults here. We need to be fighting our own battles, and asking for help, instead of trying to fight every fight alone. If I need you to help me, if I feel unsafe or like something is wrong, I'll tell you. Alright?”

 

Jon nodded mutely, feeling ashamed and foolish.

 

“And I expect you'll do the same. If you feel like something is wrong, please ask for help, yeah?”

 

“Alright,” he whispered, his spirit in his shoes. He cast his mind about for something to say, to break this awful depth of emotion hanging heavy and sharp in the air. The cold peas felt good on his face. “Martin, I need help. Someone punched me.”

 

Martin looked ready to punch him again for a second, before they both chuckled, a little nervous, a little relieved.

 

“You're an idiot,” he said, so affectionately that the words soothed instead of stinging.

 

“I can't believe you punched me. I hope Elias didn't see that,” Jon said, still laughing.

 

“I hope he did see it! He agrees with me, he's been giving me more statements. He knows I can handle it. He's got more faith in me than you, anyways,” he said with only a little frustration, rolling his eyes. That stung, more than the punch and the peas.

 

“I  _ do  _ have faith in you, Martin. I'm sorry. I really am. I… I might have a few control issues. And I made a mistake, treating you like a child. You really are amazing- I keep forgetting that you endured Prentiss alone for as long as you did, because it's so strange and brilliant. You're a fantastic member of the team, Martin, please remember that, even if I don't and I go do something rudely overprotective again. Though- please just tell me, don't punch me again,” he added quickly, leaning into Martin's hand with the cool peas.

 

“I won't. That actually hurt quite badly,” he said, studying his knuckles. “I’ve never punched anyone before. Your bone structure is remarkable.”

 

“Are you hurt?”

 

“Nah, maybe just a little bruising on my knuckles. You're the one who's gonna have the bruised face. Sorry.”

 

“I- er, Martin, not that I’m an expert on throwing punches either, but I don’t think you’re supposed to apologize for it after. You’ve made your point, now don’t be sorry. I did rather deserve it.”

 

“Nobody is going to believe that I punched you.”

 

“You could punch them too. It worked for me, got me fixed right up. I am now a firm believer in the fortitude of our Mr. Blackwood.”

 

Martin laughed. “Did you actually want a chai? I don't mind getting you one, but... you can't have the statement. I'm sure there's plenty more, but I can do my own work.”

 

“No, that's quite alright, Martin, I'm not actually a big fan of foamed milk… but I wouldn't say no to just a normal cup of tea.”

 

“That's probably why your cheekbones are so hard, all the cream in your tea,” Martin joked, shaking his hand out, then removing the peas to study his face. “I don't see any bruising yet. I'm not exactly a champion boxer or anything.”

 

“Thank goodness for that. I'll keep this on it for a bit anyways, so Elias doesn't fire y- uh. Hmm. Actually, you can probably punch whoever you'd like, because you can't be fired.”

 

“Being sort of enslaved to some knowledge entity has its perks,” Martin agreed. “It’s actually a rather good combination- a boss who see’s all, but can’t fire you. Though I suppose he could shoot me dead in an underground tunnel.”

 

“Maybe best not to be throwing any more punches.”

 

“I’ll consider it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Martin is a fierce fella and I will fight anyone who says otherwise (because he's not really a good fighter, luckily Jon isn't either)


End file.
